The second poem of NaPoWriMo and I think I've gone about as a surreal as it's possible to go. Maybe it's the hectic work schedule, maybe it's from the lack of sunshine in Frynwys at the moment. I don't know, but I hope you find this somewhat entertaining.
The Sun with Sunglasses
Should there ever be a time
when the sun finds it too bright,
it might suffer if it looks
at itself too long.
A visit to the opticians is in order.
The only glasses made for
flaming orange stars can be found
in the desert, made by the
ever efficient dung beetles.
They sell for fifty grains of sand.
Now the sun can stare at itself
and the earth for as long as it likes,
safe in the knowledge that its
retinas are protected by
everlasting celestial aviators.
No comments:
Post a Comment